


Hold My Drink

by PaperbackTrash



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-26 07:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12552156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperbackTrash/pseuds/PaperbackTrash





	1. Chapter 1

The room swayed violently as Feyre unsteadily clambered to her feet, she fumbled to find purchase on the polished marble floor. The hem of her midnight blue gown twisted around her ankles forcing her to stop. With a sharp yank she easily ripped the fabric away from her tangled feet and plummeted to the floor in the process. Staring at the shredded material in her hands a pang of sadness filled her, she couldn’t remember where the dress came from, not in this haze of wine and lights and music, but she knew that she loved it. She clutched the ruins of her beautiful dress to her chest and began apologising fervently to the remains in her hands. A familiar chuckle sounded behind her and her head whipped, nausea rising with the sudden movement as she beheld the cocky male laughing at her. His hand clamped around her elbow pulling her to her feet and as her feet secured themselves on solid ground again she swept into a deep bow.

“Mr Commander.” she said theatrically.

Cassian barked out another laugh steadying her once more. A smile bloomed across her face that made him eternally grateful that they had all survived the war, just so they could have moments like this.

“To the bar!” Feyre exclaimed as she stumbled in the completely wrong direction.

Swiftly linking elbows with her, Cassian ushered her around leading her toward the bar.

“Do you think maybe you’ve had enough to drink?” he asked with a humorous tone.

She paused scrunching her face slightly, as if she were seriously deliberating his question.

“No. You’re High Lady needs more wine.”

He cackled, actually cackled as he propped her up against the bar and poured her another glass of wine, followed by another, and another.

“You might as well pass her the whole bottle, Cass.” Mor told him brightly.

The train of her vivid red dress billowed lightly behind her as Feyre’s once had before she shredded it in frustration.

“It’s a party and we’re surrounded by friends.” Mor continued.

“You, I like you.” Feyre told her as she greedily grabbed the bottle from the bar.

Drinking deeply from the bottle, Feyre assessed the blur that was the room, looking for something she couldn’t quite remember. She scanned the entire hall, fixating on the pretty fae lights overhead and the silky banners that adorned the walls, she thought she hadn’t seen anything as beautiful as this room. Then her eyes found _him_. The sound of her heart thrummed noisily in her ears as she drank in his features, the beautiful membranous wings that elegantly jutted from his back, the hard plain of his muscles that were still clearly visible through his fine black tunic, that face. Her mouth went dry and her thoughts went to him and only him. An overpowering urge to touch that face overcame her and she was most certainly not in the state to deny herself anything. 

“Hold my drink.” she said to nobody in particular but still felt the bottle leave her hand.

Straightening herself up she strode, well staggered, with purpose toward that stunning male. Seeing her approach his violet eyes lit up with love and reverence and she felt her heart falter under that gaze. He held a long elegant hand out for her and she gleefully took it.

“You are very handsome.” she exclaimed loud enough to warrant laughs from the revellers nearby.

Firmly grabbing her waist, he sat pulling her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He smelt like citrus and jasmine and _home,_ she clung to that scent the sensation of it fogging her brain more than the wine had.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” he purred into her ear.

Heat rose in her belly and flushed across her cheeks. His voice stirred something deep within her and every inch of her body arched toward him.

“Are you _involved_ with anybody?” she asked emphasising the word involved.

He huffed a low laugh and she thought the sound would set her bones on fire.

“Disgustingly so.”

 A cocky smiled spread across his elegant face. His words slapped her like ice. She felt a lump rise in her throat as hurt and confusion washed over her. She had been so sure of this male, been so sure that he had been crafted just for her. Tears pricked in her eyes and she supressed the weeping that she could feel fighting its way to the surface. He took her head in his hands with heart-breaking gentleness and it undid her. The tears spilled out across her cheeks as a sob ripped itself from her throat.

“Feyre what’s wrong?” His voiced was lined with confusion.

Her head swirled in the wine infused haze as she cradled herself into him, tears spilling onto his chest. It felt like she belonged in his eyes and she couldn’t comprehend how he could be with someone else. She let her eyes drift close as she breathed him in. And passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre wakes up feeling a little bit rough.

Feyre gingerly opened one eye, even laying down the pain in her head was unbearable, and she regretted it immediately as a streak of sunlight assaulted her rendering her vision useless. With a groan she rolled onto her back, her brain rattling in her head. She wondered if death was preferable to this. The minutes passed as she lay there, prone on the bed. Even the soft pillows felt like lead beneath her aching head, and her mouth, had she drank poison the night before? Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, if felt as if she chewed cotton wool. A scent wafted in from somewhere around this body which had become her prison.  _Eggs and bacon,_ her stomach both yearned for and recoiled from the smell. She sat up, the longing for food winning out against the repulsion, and wished she hadn’t. Her vision blurred and the decadent room swirled relentlessly around her. Footsteps sounded, growing louder with each second. Every step closer was like a needle to brain. It hurt to think. She was pretty sure that whatever held her brain firmly in its place had been removed and replaced with a carousel. The door creaked and Rhys’ head popped around it as it opened. He looked exquisite obviously, fresh and bright and the exact opposite of how she was feeling right now. She glared at him.

“And how are we feeling this morning?” His voice was mercifully low and gentle.

“Like twenty Illyrians beat me round the head.” She admitted.

He chuckled and the sound was like razors against her fragile ears.

“Cassian cooked some breakfast if you care to join us.”

Feyre’s stomach churned, informing her just how hungry she was. Slowly, incredibly slowly, she swung her legs out of the bed and attempted to stand. Her feet found purchase on something silky, her dress she realised. It was in ruins. Absolute ruins.

“What the cauldron happened to this? Did you rip my clothes off last night?”

Rhys baulked a laugh as he leant against the doorframe.

“Feyre darling, I wish. You were passed out cold long before I winnowed us here.  _That,”_ he said pointing to the dress “was all you.”

She scrambled to remember what happened to the damn thing last night but couldn’t think passed the hunger and the intense pain shooting in her head. What had she done last night? She remembered drinking, a lot, but nothing after dancing with Rhys. Embarrassment swept over. Rhysand sensed the shift in her mood and let out a low laugh.

“Honestly you did nothing that you shouldn’t have. Cassian once got drunk and hit on Amren.” He told her.

The thought of Cassian even attempting to bed Amren made Feyre feel instantly better.

“Well actually it worked” Rhys continued “but that is a tale for another time.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up, the motion brining on a fresh wave of nausea. Holding out an arm for her, Rhys motioned down the stairs.

The short walk was treacherous and unforgiving. Every slight motion sent Feyre’s head whirling. She tried to close her eyes but that made it worse. Letting Rhys take most of her body weight, she plodded toward that delicious sent of cooked food.

“Good afternoon High Lady, sleep well?” Cassian asked mockingly from the stove.

_Afternoon?_ How long had she slept for?

“You look terrible.” Mor told her brightly.

“Shh, loud noises.” Was her only response as Rhys settled her in a chair.

Mor laughed, her golden hair perfectly cascading around her.

“Why do none of you look or feel like this?” Feyre asked, annoyed.

“Years of drinking.” Rhys said.      

“No one else got a chance to drink the wine with you around.” Cassian added.

Feyre let out an audible sigh and placed her heavy head on the table. She shuddered with pain as a door slammed from behind her and footsteps shook the surface. Azriel sat down across from her with a pitying and understanding look. She greeted him with a groan. He simply nodded to her, remaining silent. He was going to be her favourite today.

“Where’s Amren?” Feyre asked realising she was missing.

“Getting you a hangover tonic.” Rhys told her.

Mother bless, Feyre thought, maybe Amren would be her favourite today.

“She knew I would need it?” She asked tentatively.

“Oh we all knew you would need it.” Said Mor, humour sparkling in her brown eyes.

Dread washed over her as she once again racked her brain searching for the missing pieces from the previous night. She remembered falling, and Cassian, and drinking at the bar, straight from the bottle and…

“I didn’t throw up on anybody did I?”

“No, you didn’t know who I was though!” Rhys smirked at her feigning hurt.

Confusion marred her already blurry thoughts.  _Didn’t know who Rhysand was_ , the thought was absurd.

Amren breezed through the door, soundless and elegant. Feyre would be forever grateful for the ancient ones otherworldly grace. Placing a large bottle containing a hideous looking brownish green liquid in front of Feyre she took a seat to her right. Her small nostrils flaring suspiciously at Cassian’s cooking. Feyre’s head remained on the table, embarrassed and full of self-pity.

“Drink up girl.” Amren edged the bottle closer to her.

“Thank-you.” Feyre said, removing the lid.

It smelt absolutely foul. She turned to Rhys, making conversation to avoid drinking the gloopy substance.

“I wasn’t mean to you was I?” she asked.

“Quite the opposite, you wanted to know if I was involved with anyone, you called me beautiful.” He said, face beaming with pride.

“You also mutilated your dress.” Azriel told her flatly.

“You gave me a new title,” Cassian said as he placed a plate full of fried food in front of her, her mouth salivated. “‘Mr Commander.’ I think you all need to use it.” He joked.

“I’m never drinking again.” Feyre proclaimed.

They all smiled at her knowingly. She warily picked up a fork, moving her food around the plate. Her stomach began to churn at the thought of eating. Putting the fork back down, she rallied her remaining dignity and reached for the tonic. The taste was worse than the appearance, she could feel the liquid slowly sliding down her throat. Cassian laughed at her as she grimaced at the bottle that was still half full.

“You need to eat something.” Cassian urged. “It will make you feel better, take it from someone who spent a decade in that condition.”

Making a face at her plate, Feyre set about eating, the tonic still clutched in her other hand. The first bite pushed her over the edge. Bile rose in her throat and the nausea that had been threatening her spilled over.  

“Hold my drink” She said pushing the bottle into Amren’s hand as she ran to the toilet.

“You owe me 30 gold marks.” She heard Cassian say as she blindly left the kitchen.

“You said she’d be sick last night.” Azriel retorted.

Those bastards were betting on her. The anger quickly ebbed as she spilled the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

 

 


End file.
